


Happy

by blue_blue_electricblue



Series: unironic ironic elias/reader [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Emotional Attachment, Making Out, Morning Kisses, Other, References to Sex, as a treat, blue can have little a self insert, cw: graphic descriptions of elias, ft my hc of elias not being a morning person, gender neutral reader, i couldn't go like two lines w/o talking about how beautiful he is, i know i know i KNOW LEAVE ME ALONE, like a lot, reader is a beholding avatar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23529181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_blue_electricblue/pseuds/blue_blue_electricblue
Summary: Elias pays a visit, and you feel... happy.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Reader
Series: unironic ironic elias/reader [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754923
Comments: 18
Kudos: 114





	Happy

**Author's Note:**

> yeah yeah yeah i know it's super cringe to be writing self inserts, especially with elias. but also hey? i can write what i want, and i'm in love with him. so there
> 
> [this](https://twitter.com/charmophron/status/1247284511718531073) tweet got me to realize that actually i can write whatever the hell i like, so thank you very much to theo i don't think you know i exist but i love you
> 
> also this was supposed to be based off of mitski's "Happy" which is, you know, sad, but my TERRIBLE BOYFRIEND who is a BAD INFLUENCE ON ME is making it so i just want to write happy endings for him. hello darling, i'm preeetttyyy sure you're reading this, so if you are, i love you <3

“Elias,” you say, opening the door to your flat and blinking in surprise.

“You weren’t expecting me?” he asks wryly. “Maybe you should work on that, I thought I taught you better.”

You snort and open the door wider to let him in, feeling a smile grow on your face.

“I brought those pastries you like,” he says as he passes you on the way in.

You shut the door behind him and bite your lip to hide your grin. “Oh, just the pastries  _ I _ like. You have no interest in them, I’m sure.”

“None whatsoever. Though I’ve also brought wine, and I will concede that it is at least partially for my benefit, given that you have absolutely no taste and buy whatever foul dessert wine is on sale this week.”

“The disrespect, in my own home,” you say, gasping in affront as you follow him into the sitting room. “I have  _ taste. _ ”

“You do not,” he says as he sits down on the couch and crosses one leg over the other. “Not for wine.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I spent all that time teaching you everything I knew and somehow I forgot to impart upon you an appreciation for fine wine.”

“Now that’s not fair,” you object, sitting beside him in a much less formal position. You are, after all, in your own home and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. You can afford to recline against the arm of the couch with your knees bent in front of you as you gaze at Elias’s  _ quite _ handsome profile. “I appreciate fine wine. I just have absolutely no idea how to find it, and most wine is just  _ fine, _ frankly.”

He shoots you a withering glare. You put a hand to your chest as though shot.

“It’s not  _ difficult _ to find a good wine,” he says as he pulls the wine and pastries out of the bag he brought. “And especially not for someone like us.”

“Oh, we sold our souls so we could Know which wine was good and which was bad, got it.”

He rolls his eyes and picks up the wine opener on the end table that is just there because you’re maybe a little depressed and coping with it in unhealthy ways. “That is not  _ why _ but if we did  _ sell our souls,  _ we might as well make the most of it by purchasing wine that is not foul.”

You could answer him, certainly, but now you just feel… happy. Just watching him. He’d be proud of you for that, and despite everything, that thought makes you happier. You feel perfectly content, watching him over your knees, watching his long, clever fingers position the wine opener, watching his hands move, watching the curve of his neck and the cut of his jaw. The hard line of his nose, the carefully styled hair, now a little out of place from, presumably, a full day at the Institute, the bright eyes. His  _ suit, _ of course, but that goes without saying. He still has his suit jacket on, but you know how well he looks in just his vest, in just his shirtsleeves, in just  _ nothing,  _ so you are content to watch him now as he is.

He is such a beautiful man.

“You’ll make me jealous,” he murmurs slyly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he opens the bottle and begins to get the pastries out of their package. “This isn’t quite  _ me,  _ you know.”

“I know,” you say, and don’t say anything else.

He pauses and looks at you properly, something approaching concern on his face. He doesn’t  _ voice _ his concern, of course he doesn’t. Instead he says, “Why don’t you get the wine glasses?”

You look between him and the bottle for a moment.

You push off the arm of the couch with your elbows and tuck your legs under you, bringing you closer to him, and extend your hand. He raises an eyebrow, but gives you the bottle, and you rather unceremoniously take a swig.

“Oh shit,” you say, genuinely surprised, “this  _ is _ better than the shit I buy.”

“Indeed.”

“Don’t be smug, Elias, or I won’t give the bottle back to you and I’ll enjoy it all by myself.”

“Are we being children and drinking straight from the bottle tonight, then?” he sighs.

You feel the grin creep up your face again, and as if mirroring its slow and steady and inexorable movement, you begin to crawl towards him on your knees. “I think so, yes. Or, I’ll be a child, and if you object so strongly, you can just let me consume an entire bottle of wine by myself.”

Despite himself, he smiles as you reach his lap and position yourself to straddle him properly.

“Clearly, as the only adult in the room, I think it would be irresponsible of me to let you consume that much alcohol,” he says, settling his hands on your waist.

“Then I suppose we’ll have to drink from the bottle,” you exhale against his lips, and he apparently decides that’s enough talking out of you because he leans up slightly and captures your mouth in a kiss.

Kissing Elias is happiness.

He is very, very good at it. Well, you suppose he has had quite a lot of time to practice, but he is still almost dazzlingly good at it. His lips press against yours and you give him access to your mouth immediately, because you’re weak for him, and he nips your lower lip because he knows you are and very cruelly teases you for it.

But this is still happiness; the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, the sound of breathing, the closeness and warmth that he provides. It is a sense of security, a break from the numbness, electricity in your veins and something that will  _ finally _ get your heart pumping, one of his hands on your waist and the other–

“Hey!” you say when you realize he’s just been distracting you for the opportunity to take the bottle from you.

His grin is nasty and patronizing and you fall very deeply in love with it as he takes a pull from the bottle.

He’s very handsome when he drinks. His lips wrap around the neck of the bottle in just… the most alluring way, his eyes go half-lidded but they never  _ close _ , of course they don’t, and they stare at you smugly, his lips almost seem to smirk at you but they  _ can’t _ because of how they’re circled around the  _ fucking _ bottle. His head tilts back, his neck, his  _ beautiful _ neck is exposed, the tendons standing out and his throat bobbing as he drinks. Ah, but it seems that he  _ does  _ smirk, because the seal of his lips around the bottle can’t be that secure if a trickle of wine can slip from the corner of his mouth, can run down his jaw, can roll its way down his neck. You watch that drop of wine with more envy than you’ve ever looked at anything in your life, how it can slide down his body, how it can caress him so gently, how it can live and die its entire existence on his skin.  _ His _ skin. His beautiful, perfect skin that seems to glow from the inside, because while the body is beautiful, the mind is moreso, the mind and the air about him and the egoistic, regal personality. Everything about him screams elegance and decadence and beauty and it makes your heart stop.

He knows very well what he’s doing when he drinks like this in front of you. He thinks he’ll  _ win _ like this. 

Well, if he wants to play dirty, you can play dirty, you think, and you lean forward and lick up his neck, licking it clean, consuming the wine you so envied. You lick up his neck, and nip at his jaw, and taste your way to the corner of his mouth to end your journey in a kiss, surprisingly chaste, considering the situation. He tilts his head back down and pulls the bottle from his lips and you take the opportunity to dive in and kiss the alcohol from his mouth and snag the bottle back.

“Stay,” you say against his mouth when half the bottle is gone along with his jacket, and his hands have made their way under your shirt and are steadily travelling upward. “I’ll do anything.”

He pulls back from you for a moment to take in your heaving chest and flushed face, your bruised lips and pupils blown wide.

“Well, you won’t do  _ ‘anything’ _ on the couch,” he says, because he’s awful, and you laugh.

You lean forward and kiss him, trying to kiss him as breathless as he does you. It doesn’t work, of course, and you only wind up gasping for him.

Finally you pull back to breathe. “You’re right,” you say. He always is. “So take me to bed.”

* * *

You watch him when you wake up.

It’s very early in the morning, and he won’t be awake for a while. Something about his aristocratic upbringing makes him very much  _ not _ a morning person. You’re not, either, but you like watching him, and you know you’ll hardly ever get the chance to do so. He doesn’t stick around long after he wakes up.

And so, for him, you become a morning person, because you care for him and you love to watch him.

It doesn’t hurt that your loyalties make you a little more prone to  _ watching  _ than the average person.

Elias is the only thing that makes you happy, lately. Your days are a dull haze but for when he comes to visit, with his pastries and his wine and the tea he brings that he knows you like. And when he’s with you, you can  _ feel _ things again, you can feel the rhythm of your heart start back up.

You watch the slow rise and fall of his chest.

He’ll leave soon, and everything will fall back into decay.

You shouldn’t be so attached to him. You know that. You know it’s not… good for you. It’s not healthy to be so devoted to a man who doesn’t care about you, not really. He certainly should be the only thing that makes you happy. You shouldn’t need him as badly as you do.

He stirs momentarily in his sleep, making a noise in the back of his throat, and you freeze, terrified that he is going to wake up, he is going to leave, that you’ll be alone again.

He stays asleep.

You watch him for another minute and a half. He really is so beautiful. And, true, this is not really  _ him, _ but the truth is Elias wouldn’t be half so beautiful if he wasn’t  _ Jonah. _

It is the presence of his mind, his eyes, his age, it is the presence of  _ Jonah _ that elevates Elias from merely handsome to  _ ethereal. _

You have to get out of bed. He won’t be here for much longer, and he’ll take your happiness with him when he leaves, and you don’t really want to watch it walk out your door. Again.

You slide quietly out of bed and look around the room.

“Fuck, I have to clean,” you murmur.

You do. It looks like a hurricane hit the bedroom and you have no doubt that the sitting room looks worse. Clothes are strewn about haphazardly, things have been shoved off desks and thrown to the floor, furniture is slightly out of place from where you’d shoved him or been shoved into it. You really should stop having these rendezvous inside your home, the wreckage it left behind was more trouble than it was worth.

You look back down at Elias, still sleeping in your bed. He shifts again, his hair having long since fallen away from its careful styling from fingers being run through it possessively, insistently, and strands now slip into his face. They brush against his forehead, kiss the bridge of his nose, rest gently on his long eyelashes, puff slightly away from his face every time he exhales lightly from his nose. His eyes are still shut, and he looks like a king, like a sleeping god, like everything he is and will become. He looks immortal in sleep. He looks like all of his fears are gone, like he is worried about nothing, like not even death scares him, not even the thing that drives him and constantly nips at his heels can catch him, and he is now a champion over death, taking his victory and his solace and his peace in its cousin.

Perhaps he is just as much trouble as he’s worth.

Still. You have a lot to clean, yourself included, and you would rather be taking a shower when he leaves. A clean break. If you don’t hear him leave, if you don’t see him walk out your door, you won’t be tempted to beg him on your knees to stay with you, and that was an eventuality you would like to avoid if at all possible. Your dignity is very important to you. If you crumble, if you show your weakness, then you still won’t have Elias, and you’ll just lose your pride as well. No point in not having both.

You sigh heavily. You might as well get cleaning, erase all hints that anything happened, anyone visited at all. You just hope that one day he’ll walk out that door with your heart, because what use is it to you if he’s not there? What is the point– 

A hand grabs your wrist and you blink down at it in surprise.

“Will you please,” says the owner of the hand, rather grumpily from where he lays half awake in your bed, “ _ please _ shut up. Just come back to bed and sleep for another few hours, like a rational being.”

You still don’t quite know how to process what he’s saying.

He tugs on your wrist, and as he happens to be uncommonly strong, you stumble back into bed.

“You think so  _ loudly _ when you’re depressed,” he says, dragging your body to his. “It’s enough to give me a headache.”

He ducks his head into your neck and kisses you gently there. You can feel his eyelids close and his breathing slow against the sensitive skin.

_ This isn’t yours _ , something in your brain tries to scream.  _ Don’t get used to this. This isn’t yours. _

Elias practically growls in his throat, and a hand comes up to cover your eyes.

“I told you to  _ shut up, _ ” he says, his voice groggy and his breath hot against your neck. “I  _ will _ blindfold you. Stop. Thinking. It’s too loud and too incorrect for me to want to address this morning.” He huffs and bites your neck gently. “Honestly. Of course this isn’t yours. I’m not anyone’s but the Eye’s. But that’s not what matters; what matters is that  _ you _ are  _ mine _ and I’m not in the habit of throwing away my things. Are you satisfied now?”

You can barely breathe. His hand is warm over your eyes. His face is warm on your neck. His body is warm against your body.

“Oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“Yes, ‘ _ oh, _ ’” he mocks, clearly still grouchy due to the hour. “Can we sleep with no more interruptions now please? It is an ungodly hour, and we did go several rounds last night, and in order for me to maintain my beauty that you so prize, I need to  _ sleep. _ ”

You’ll need to have a talk with him at some point, because even in a relationship with two mind-readers requires communication, clearly. You’ll need to discuss your place in his life and his in yours. But for now, you can just let your eyes slip closed. He’s  _ here. _ He might leave eventually, but he’s  _ here  _ and you belong to  _ him. _

A smile grows on your face. Your chest feels warm, and your grin is stretched wide, and Elias is hot and relaxed and sleeping against your body.

You are  _ happy. _

And that is the last thing you are aware of before you succumb to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> just started using [twitter](https://twitter.com/bluezaffre) so come say hi to me!!


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